Those Who Endure
by sequestration13
Summary: A squad of Grey Knights and an Inquisitor head to a distant planet to purge it of daemons, but they find an entity that defies logic and the realities of the Forty-First Millennium. They need ask one question: "Is there a such thing as unbreakable faith?"
1. Preface and Foreword

**Those Who Endure**

Written by Sequestration13

Preface:

December 24, 013.M3

After reading many of the books written by the likes of Abnett, McNeil, Mitchell, and Counter, I wanted to write a story that would encapsulate some of the narrative sweep of those works while maintaining a unique look into the personalities that inhabit the Forty-First Millennium. I claim not to have surpassed them, nor even claim to have attained a small fraction of their work, but I wish to put my thoughts out into the greater community so that there could be some food for thought.

What fascinated me about the universe of Warhammer 40,000 was the realization of a dark distant future that is almost terrifying to contemplate. In thirty-eight thousand years, is this what the future might look like? Could we create the befuddling paradox of humanity at the cutting edge of its advancement, yet tragically stagnant and reactionary? Is it possible to even have ourselves in a place where hope, valor, bravery, love, and perseverance could be detrimental to our survival? When the supposedly faithful are challenged, do they always prevail, or is it just a matter of time before they "live long enough to become the villain"?

Such thoughts were in my head as I started conceptualizing "Those Who Endure". It is still not complete by any stretch of the imagination, but I believe that I should show what I do have to see if it is worth continuing and if the community would enjoy the journey with a squad of Grey Knights who find themselves in a conflict far more dangerous than they ever would have thought.

Sequestration13

* * *

Foreword by Inquisitor Arcturus Barchenman

_Thirty years have elapsed since "Those Who Endure" was first printed secretly and spread across the galaxy. In that time, it faced strict Imperial condemnation and widespread censorship because of its apparent anti-Imperial message and for the reveal of a chapter of Astartes that have only recently been confirmed to exist: The Grey Knights. To this day, we do not know how the anonymous author managed to gain knowledge of a treasure trove of information that was carefully protected across the galaxy. What we do know, is that what he left us stood the test of time as one of the best works of literature ever conceived. It is for this reason that I, as an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, hereby lift the ban on this work and permit its official printing._

_The reasons I do so are numerous. Firstly, it consolidates our Imperial Truth and gives evidence of how rewarding a life in the service of the Emperor. Secondly, it is an uplifting story of confronting adversity and enduring through terrible torment. Finally, its widespread prevalence throughout the Imperium despite its illegality practically makes it impossible to ban now. In essence, it reached legality through being prolific enough._

_Despite that, I highly recommend reading this work, and thus, it deserves a place among the pantheon of the greatest works ever written._

_IT IS SO ORDERED_

_Arcturus Barchenman_

_Inquisitor, Ordo Hereticus_


	2. Epigraphs

"'Home' is recognized patterns, known spaces, familiar thought processes of fellow sapients. It is belonging. A planet is an amount of material massive enough to collapse into a spherical volume. Rocks, ice, dust, and gasses are not 'Home'."

- Legion from _Mass Effect 2_

"And so thus their tortuous and testing journey ended, for what could be sweeter than the sight of the gates of the Fortress of Hera for Captain Ventris and Sergeant Lysane? They were home at the only place they could call home, amongst their comrades-in-arms and brothers. Their trials had been great, but their faith in the Emperor never wavered. Surely, the Primarch Himself must have smiled as Ventris and Lysane burst into tears of joy as the sons of Guilliman welcomed their prodigal brothers back to their places of honor."

- Excerpted from _The Battle-Brothers of Ultramar: An Exhaustive History of the XIII Legion_, Volume XXIV, Twelfth Edition, authored by Chief Librarian Tigurius


	3. Prologue

PROLOGUE:

FIVE WEEKS AGO

"Inquisitor?"

Marquiel Grantian looked up from his thick book to find the shuttle steward standing right over his seat.

"Yes?" he carefully enquired.

"Um, this package was delivered at the gate and it's addressed to you, my Lord."

Trying his best to avoid the leer that had frightened so many of his colleagues, Grantian took the small package, which was about the size of a thick book, and placed it on his lap.

"Thank you very much, Miss." Grantian slowly looked under and around and subjected the package to his usual battery of tests and probes. When none of them came back with any sign of Warp or daemon taint, he carefully unwrapped the package.

It was indeed a book, but Grantian's sharp intake of breath belied the normally unassuming contents. A book written in impossibly High Gothic, one that he had been searching for across dozens of planets.

He opened the cover, and turned to the first page, reading, "In principio creavit Deus caelum et terram. Terra autem erat inanis et vacua et tenebrae super faciem abyssi et spiritus Dei ferebatur suer aquas".

After a few minutes of excitedly flipping around this rare book, the Inquisitor came across a note tucked into one of the pages that made his blood run cold.

"My Master has seen it fit that you and I shall meet soon. Fear not Inquisitor Grantian, we shall speak soon. Ozymandias. P.S. I've always found this story fascinating."

Quickly directing his attention to the page where the note was found, he read "Nunc dimittis servum tuum Domine secundum verbum duum in pace quia viderunt oculi mei salutare tuum."

Grantian never did quite understand what that dratted note meant.


	4. Chapter I

CHAPTER I

Every morning began exactly the same way. He would wake himself from half-sleep and be instantly alert, eyes scanning for any signs of infiltration. Then he would kneel before the image of the Emperor in his chamber and bow his head, intoning the same prayer and litany that he had recited for as long as he could remember. "I am the hammer, I am the right hand of the Emperor, the instrument of His will, the gauntlet about His fist, the tip of His spear, the edge of His sword!" It gave him comfort and solace, in a period that no man or Astartes in his right mind found comforting.

It has been said amongst those of Ancient Terra that in space, no one can hear you scream. This may be true, being that sound does not carry in a vacuum. But they were not travelling through space.

The vast distances between planets in the Imperium of Man necessitated the use of faster-than-light travel, but the solution was far from pretty. It was to traverse hell itself. Warp travel was just so necessary, so much so that the Gellar Fields were rushed into use despite their alarming tendency to fail. Hushed whispers regarding the Ventris Affair had only begun to filter throughout the halls of the Fortress of Hera, not developing into the absolute disaster that would soon rock the Mechancius.

But as the _Valour Saturnium_ plowed through the veil of the Warp, there was no doubt that those aboard had absolute faith in their destination. "Faith in our purpose, faith in the Emperor, and faith that we shall do His will, now and forevermore," said Paladin Rienten, as he addressed his battle-brothers in the cafeteria during afternoon prayers. This was no ordinary cafeteria, but one where gilded skulls and divine imagery covered the walls. Rienten was standing behind a large lectern made out of some old Terran wood. It would be as close as they got to Terra, Brother-Captain Fortian used to remark. As he concluded he silently made his way back to his customary place. The Brother-Captain usually asked for a volunteer to speak at each prayer, and it was no surprise that the Grey Knights had each enthusiastically volunteered to a man.

After a number of further supplications and litanies, the Knights were dismissed back to their chambers. Rienten managed to catch up with Techmarine Volonis, a rather hulking . "So you return from Mars, only to rebuff your good friend?"

"Brother Rienten! An excellent message today," he replied back, embracing his friend of fifteen Terran years.

The wit wasn't far away. "So the techmagi have spat out another convert! How have you avoided the servo arms and removal of a good chunk of your flesh and kept your dashingly cragged looks? I hear adamantium spinal cords are all the rage on Mars."

Grimacing, Volonis simply intoned "What is humanity but fallible compared to the logic of the machine which we embrace wholeheartedly and in our journey to become ever closer to the Omnissiah, blah blah blah." Rienten couldn't stop the grin from slowly forming onto his face before he nearly burst out laughing. "What about you, Rienten? I don't see any new scars on your face from the past five years, or any balding of your golden hair, so how in Holy Terra are you still going? Is it the blood from the Van Horne Incident?"

"Ah, no. I had nothing to do with that. Brother Ordan gave his life valiantly that day and we were able to inter him on Titan, but it's an experience that not many would want to relive," said Rienten evasively.

"But I don't believe that's particularly relevant, Brother Volonius," chimed in another voice.

Spinning around, Rienten saw Justicar Ignatius standing next to him. "Ah, Brother Ignatius, how are you doing today?"

"Just fine, thank you," replied Ignatius stiffly. Fixing his countenance on Volonius, the battle-scarred warrior could not resist. "Mars has taught you well, I see."

Volonius looked down for a moment and let his servo arms relax. "But of course. Studying under the tutelage of greats such as Fabricator Locum Phillandros Scarandir is quite beneficial for not only the Chapter, but also to the Omnissiah."

"Mmh-hmm. And your speech, Brother Rienten?"

"Came to me in a moment of inspiration. Truly the work of the Emperor."

"Ah," replied Ignatius looking not too relieved. "Praise be to the Emperor," he said as he dismissed himself.

Nearly shocked, Volonius looked at Rienten, asking if what he had seen was truly the Ignatius of five years ago.

"Yes, Brother. That's Ignatius. He hasn't really changed, except for his ambition."

"Hopefully that changes in short order, as simply having ambition never got me anywhere."

"Try telling that to the Justicar. He will no more listen to you than to me, or to Verbon."

"Verbon! That swordsman is still around?"

"Aye, Volonius. And even more proficient than nearly the entire chapter."

Volonius chuckled. "That still does not excuse the prank he nearly pulled on my projects."

"Rest assured, he will be more than happy to make it up to you by killing some daemons, will it not?"

The two friends chuckled as they walked throughout the ship, anxious to find out about their first assignment together in fifteen years.


	5. Chapter II

Chapter II

The Knights assembled in the _Saturnium_'s cavernous lecture hall. Normally used for tactical exercises and sermons from the Chaplains that accompanied them, the lights were dimmed as all assembled understood the gravity of the situation. Brother-Captain Fortian stood at the lectern along with a man dressed in a custom suit of power armor that the squad had only seen intermittently throughout their extended cruise.

"We are assembled here, millions of miles from Titan, to deal with a threat that has only recently come to our attention," began Captain Fortian. "Inquisitor Grantian is here to tell you more."

The room was perfectly still as the man in power armor stepped forward. "Thank you Brother Captain. My name is Marquiel Grantian, and I am an inquisitor from the Ordo Hereticus. Four weeks ago marked my first time on your homeworld and I thank you for your hospitality both there and aboard your glorious starship." As you are well aware, you have been called from Titan for a mission that is hardly ordinary, but one that I believe you are capable of taking."

The Inquisitor nodded to Volonius, who was manning a terminal containing Grantian's presentation. "Five weeks ago, I received this package." He pointed to a box on top of the lectern. "It is from thousands of years ago, and I have no idea how this should still exist." He opened the box and revealed a leather-bound book with gold embossing.

"It's a book called the Bible, and it was marked with a passage indicating that we would meet soon."

Verbon raised his hand. "Pardon me, Inquisitor, but who are we fighting here?"

Raising his eyebrows, Grantian whispered a name. "Ozymandias."

"Ozymandias? And he has the power to scare an Inquisitor?"

Grantian was almost breathless. "He nearly single-handedly instituted a revolution on Krieg. For some reason, Tzeentch has seen fit to make him a Greater Daemon despite having only one accomplishment to his name."

Ignatius was still dismissive. "So you want us to find and kill him?"

"No Justicar. I will be overseeing your operations from the ground as well. Our objective is to neutralize him. He is holed up on the planet Salutoris and we need to make sure he doesn't leave."

Rienten had a question. "What about orbital bombardment from the _Saturnium_?

"Not an option, Brother Paladin," interjected the Captain. "The Inquisitor tells me Ozymandias is an interesting case that needs to be brought back to Titan alive."

The lecture hall was dead silent. Verbon rose from his seat and turned around to leave.

No one stopped him.

* * *

Ever since he had officially become a member of the Grey Knights, Rienten had never been too keen to race into battle, but he had always known those who were. After deciding that he needed a bit of practice with his Nemesis Force Sword, the Paladin had the misfortune of sneaking up onto Brotherhood Champion Verbon as he was in the midst of his sparring practice.

"For who can stand before me, who is imbued with the righteous hate of the Emperor?", thundered Verbon as he slashed downward on a practice servitor with his Anointed sword. "The heretic, mutant, the _xeno_, all shall fall before His righteousness and be judged un-" and Rienten quickly found himself on the business end of Verbon's sword.

"Practicing your speeches, I see Brother Verbon," quipped Rienten as he thumbed the deactivation rune on the combat servitors.

Verbon frowned and took off his helm, revealing his piercing green eyes and short brown hair. "Brother Rienten, I do believe I have this room for five more minutes."

"Brother-Captain Fortian wished to know where you were, as you missed the briefing."

Verbon huffed and sheathed his sword. "The Captain did not send for me, as he should have known that I was doing everything in my power to keep my blade sharp and ready should it be called."

"It has been called already."

"Can the Captain trust that you are well enough to continue?"

* * *

Inquisitor Marquiel Grantian looked out over the planets sailing by in his temporary office aboard the _Valour Saturnium_. Dressed in a suit of power armor of custom manufacture, Grantian marveled at the gauntlet about his right hand, how each minute twitch was realized through the thick ceramite. Grantian shuddered at the expense and time it had taken to acquire a part of the Emperor's most precious gifts to be able to don such exalted armor. The requisitioners had been most kind, blessed be their lives.

A sharp rap sounded on the door to his office. Grantian smiled. Punctual as always. The Inquisitor opened the door to find Paladin Rienten standing smartly in his power armor, standing a good foot taller than the Inquisitor. "Please, Brother Rienten, have a seat," Inuisitor Grantian said genially, point to a specially reinforced chair in front of a rather Spartan desk.

"I do suppose you realize just what we are getting into?" asked Grantian as he discreetly closed a folio.

"Lord Grantian, from my eyes, it seems a straightforward enough exercise. A simple run, a Greater Daemon, sure enough, but Tzeentch poses the least threat to us," Rienten stated proudly.

Sighing and almost cradling his forehead in his arms of ceramite, Inquisitor Grantian opted to run his hand through his locks of golden-blonde hair, kept in place only by the most aggressive of juvat regimens. "Many have underestimated their abilities against those of the Lord of Change. Khorne and Nurgle are obvious, but Tzeentch? Do you not remember the Trail of Saint Evisser? Ghargatuloth?"

"We learned our lessons, but outwitting Tzeentch never comes down to strength of arms, but rather strength of mind. And, as you know, more chapter is greater are more pure than that of the Emperor's chosen."

"You needn't remind me," snapped the inquisitor as he rose from his chain and viewed another planet sailing by. "My concern is that this may test you in ways you may not imagine."

"If that is what you say, Inquisitor, but we who have completed the Six Hundred and Sixty-Six Rites have never fallen in vain" he declared as Rienten's armored mass turned around and closed the door.

Grantian reopened the folio on his desk and proceeded to scan the Special Planetary Intelligence Estimate on Salutoris. Emperor on the Throne, this was going to be difficult.

* * *

Once free from the oppressive atmosphere of the Inquisitor. Paladin Rienten rejoined the newly minted Techmarine Volonius, Justicar Ignatius, Brotherhood Champion Verbon, and Librarian Quantrill.

"Brother-Captain," called Justicar Ignatius. "It is truly an honor to be beside you in combat once again. I never doubt that Titan has seen such a fine warrior as you."

Librarian Quantrill couldn't resist. "Brother Ignatius, maybe this time the Captain will remind you that needlessly trying to 'save' him will not expedite your promotion to Captain."


	6. Chapter III

Chapter III

The Thunderhawk cut through the suffocating atmosphere of Salutoris but this came at a serious cost. Verbon's anointed sword rattled in its scabbard, while the rest of the knights were near silently meditating. Though the power armor they wore was the best in the Imperium, not every vibration was completely filtered out. Volonius silently mouthing entreaties to the Omnissiah to keep their wargear in serviceable condition, and that it would not fail them in their task against Ozymandias. Every now and then, a jerk would put a slight hitch in the never ending mantra of blessings and supplications to the spirits of the machines that they entrusted their lives to.

Paladin Rienten was reciting his own litany. "I am the hammer, I am the gauntlet about his fist." The words that kept on comforting hundreds of Grey Knights for hundreds of years. Ignatius and Fortian were reading their copies of the _Liber Daemonicum_, their eyes scanning reading the guiding principles of the Knights. Inquisitor Grantian had indeed tagged along, alone, sitting quietly and reading, to the surprise of some of on the _Valour Saturnium_, the Failenreiter Critical Edition of the _Codex Astartes_. "Inquisitor," asked Brother-Captain Fortian, "why are you reading the _Codex_?"

"It is a simple matter of preparation, Brother-Captain," replied the Inquisitor. "I have a number of appointments with Chapter Master Calgar next year. I have found over the years that the Emperor's fortune favors the prepared, thus, I have no wish to take a jump off of the top of the Fortress of Hera for violating some obscure clause in the book"

Fortian chuckled a bit, before promptly resuming his own reading. It was going to be a good fight, indeed. Ozymandias. What kind of a name was that, anyway?

The musings were rudely interrupted by the pilot announcing one minute to the landing zone. After storing their books away, Brother-Captain Fortian stood up, and prepared himself for the task ahead.

"Brothers," he began. "Today, we shall deliver another world from the clutches of the Enemy! We shall fight and be victorious in the name of the Emperor, bringing His light into darkness and His Truth into the den of deceit and lies!"

"Thirty seconds," the Thunderhawk pilot stated.

"Our bonds of brotherhood shall be tested, but the seeds of doubt shall never be sown in us. For we are the hammer,"

"We are the right hand of the Emperor, the instrument of His will, the gauntlet about His fist, the tip of His spear, the edge of His sword!" The Astartes shouted with reckless abandon and banged their weapons against the floor of the Thuderhawk. Even Grantian joined in, overcome by the sheer devotion and faith. As the back of the Thunderhawk opened, Rienten and Fortian led the charge onto the battlefield that would so rightfully belong to the Emperor.

Or so they thought, as the entire squad gazed off from the top off a huge building into the vast wasteland of Salutoris, with nary a soul in sight. Inquisitor Gratian took off his helm and surveyed the situation. Winds blew with a vengeance across the baked ground that surrounded the building. In the distance, a collection of far-off shapes suggested an ancient city, but the pale fog that surrounded their vision made that distinction very faint.

"Where is Ozymandias?" asked Verbon, wary of drawing his blade lest it be scalded by the dusty winds.

"Auspexes are clear," stated Quantrill, storm bolter at the ready. Paladin Rienten did not hold any illusions of grandeur, though.

"Brothers," he stated slowly, "we'd best be moving along, soon."

"Why, Rienten?" the Captain asked as Quantrill's voice screamed across the vox.

"Incoming missile! Everyone run!"

The Knights ran across the roof of the building and jumped for it as the missile sailed straight at the Thunderhawk and caused a blinding explosion. Rienten found his head pounding as the surface that they landed on was the rockcrete road surface. The Knights could feel their broken bones slowly being stitched back together as they struggled to rise to their feet. Inquisitor Grantian wasn't as lucky, as he was forced to reach for a number of tonics to fix his numerous injuries from leaping off a ten story building.

Quantrill was the first to figure it out. "Did the exterminatus device detonate? What if the planet is too far gone to save?"

"No," Volonius replied. "The device that we have cannot detonate with secondary explosions. That must have been a very different missile, from a company that was only whispered about amongst the most secretive of Mars."

"You would be correct, Techmarine," came a silky voice.

Volonius whirred around and saw a figure step out of the building. It was wearing a weird assortment of clothes, a black jacket along with a white buttoned shirt and black pants. A bow of white cloth circled under the shirt collar. It certainly was a far cry from the ornate clothing considered appropriate to meet Astartes in the rest of the Imperium. But the smug assurance that the figure gave as he stood in the doorway of the building the marines just fell off of, brooked no argument that he was in control.

"Inquisitor Grantian, we finally meet."


	7. Chapter IV

CHAPTER IV

"You are Ozymandias," said the Inquisitor, eyes flaming with discontent and loathing.

"Absolutely correct, Inquisitor!" the figure laughed. "Welcome to Salutoris."

"Inquisitor," cautioned Verbon, "we should not be listening to the heretic." The Champion unsheathed his sword and brought it high above his right shoulder. "By your command, Inquisitor."

Grantian stood nearly stock-still as Ozymandias continued to stare straight at him. He had seen his share of horrors, but even the greatest daemons rushed had their acolytes die for them, or they would seek to prove themselves in some misguided sense of glory. Grantian had seen it way too many times. But why Ozymandias?

"I sought you all out to tell you a story," proclaimed the daemon. "A story of loss, tragedy, and heartwarming resolve. This is one of the people of Salutoris," gesturing towards the sky and the building behind him. "And you are going to help me tell it."

"We tell you nothing foul daemonic scum!" yelled Rienten. "Admit your defeat before the might of the Emperor, who has been, is, and will be! For we are –"

"The hammer, you are the hate, you are the gauntlet about His right fist," finished Ozymandias.

Verbon roared his anger at the distant figure. He charged forward, sword held aloft, to the strangely dressed daemon. But after fifteen paces, Verbon found that he was not progressing as fast as he normally was, and indeed his steps became slower and slower.

"The Inquisitor wants me alive, so I am afraid you must wait your turn, Brother. So, shall we reason together?"

* * *

The building upon which their destroyed Thuderhawk stood turned out to be far more elaborate inside than out. Plush red carpeting and what appeared to be marble floors paired with gold filigree and ornate crystal chandeliers dangling precariously from the high ceiling made the Astartes hesitate to march or run. Yet their storm bolters, nemesis force swords, and servo-arms were kept at the ready for the slightest sign of the figure that led them into the building, but disappeared.

"Good evening, sons of the Emperor. My name is Ozymandias and I am here to tell you about the Young People's Orchestra of Salutoris."

Ozymandias' voice boomed throughout the room, echoing in the far corners and audible for all. Rienten slowly wrapped his left hand around the sword across his back, while Quantrill was scanning the auspex for any hint of Ozymandias.

"The Orchestra was established twenty years before this world became what it is today. All sorts of youths would try to become members, as it was the favored entertainment of the Nobles of the Salutoris."

As the Knights advanced past the foyer, they came to an ornate set of doors. Techmarine Volonius had taken his time to ensure that there were no traps, no mines that would impede progress. But, what could Ozymandias' game be?

Justicar Ignatius kicked down the door and the Knights fanned out, rapidly checking corners in the vast room that they entered. True it was ornate, just as the foyer was, but it was meant to hold people in an audience. Rows upon rows of chairs faced a stage that was somewhat smaller than the cavernous halls of the Imperium's titanic ships.

Paladin Rienten struggled to move through the rows in his Terminator Armor, but kept his sword at the ready. "Clear," came the reassuring call from Ignatius.

"Clear," said Volonius.

"Clear," replied Inquisitor Grantian.

"Clear," stated Quantrill.

"No daemons in sight," surmised Brother Captain Fortian. "What are we doing here?"

"Have you forgotten?" came the voice. "You are here because your training is still woefully incomplete."

The storm bolters swung wide as all frantically sought to identify the source of the voice. In the hall, it sounded clear and resonant. But Rienten suddenly heard something different. A low voice. No . . .

_"O Thou Who are unchangeable, Whom nothing changes. May we find our rest And remain at rest in Thee unchanging. Thou art moved and moved in infinite love by all things; the need of a sparrow, even this moves Thee; and what we scarcely see, a human sigh, this moves Thee, O infinite Love!"_

A chorus of low voices. Immediately, he whirred around and saw a large orchestra and chorus on the stage. Just as in the Forum of the Resolute on Cadia.

"Do you hear that?" asked Rienten.

Verbon sighed. "I see hundreds on the stage, but they seem to be singing gibberish."

"What do you mean gibberish? It's as clear as day!" cried Rienten looking at the crowd on stage playing traditional Terran instruments.

"Paladin, if you would so kindly ignore the performance of _Prayers of Sebastian Thor_ and FIND this thing!" shouted Grantian above the sounds.

"Why should he ignore it?" rang out Ozymandias.

"Show yourself!" cried Verbon.

"Indeed, Champion Verbon," and the man standing on the podium on the stage turned around. Now that he was close enough, Ozymandias' features were visible. But they were that of a normal human. Not a scratch marred his pale face and his hair was neatly trimmed. For all intents and purposes, he might as well have been one of the serfs back on Titan.

"The Orchestra played _Prayers of Sebastian Thor_ for its first performance. Humanity at its finest, is it not?"

Quantrill rolled his eyes and aimed the storm bolter at Ozymandias, who paid no heed as he waved his arms to the orchestra.

_"Hold not our sins up against us, But hold us up against our sins. So that the thought of Thee should not remind us Of what we have committed. But of what Thou didst forgive; . . ." _A sharp _crack_ rang out as Quantrill's diamantine tipped bolter round struck the far wall of the stage.

"_Not how we went astray, But how Thou didst save . . . us!" _

"Apothecary, you should know better than to interrupt history in action," said Ozymandias coolly as he lowered his hands once the final chord ended.

Quantrill was unfazed. "What matters of history when we are here to write it? Daemon, I know not what your purpose is, but you have been judged by the Emperor and you shall submit for interrogation, questioning, and if He wills it, redemption."

"History matters because we are doomed to repeat it. History matters because I have seen the past, and Terra has fallen so far."

All the while, Volonius was moving further and further to the side of the theater, lining up Ozymandias with the Stalker-Pattern bolter. "A shot to the leg, Brother-Captain?"

"Do it."

Ozymandias continued to talk. "We live in a dark universe. But is there only war? I say . ." Another _crack_ rang out. Not even bothering to blink, Ozymandias dropped down and conjured a shield out of thin air.

_CLUNK!_

"No. There is not."


End file.
